Damage Inc
by SharpShooter-Pony
Summary: Weston Smith didn't realize he was a Winchester until his uncle came looking for him. Now him and Sam have to learn to hunt together despite their emotional baggage before things get out of hand in the supernatural world.
1. Chapter 1

Damage Inc.

Chapter One

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**Disclaimer_;_** I own nothing except Weston Smith.

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The head lights of passing trucks penetrated through the cheap material the pastel pink curtains were made out of in the dive "Jack's Motel", playing shadows across the wall opposite the two twin beds in the room that was occupied only by one. Sam Winchester, the man who had paid for the room for a couple of nights while he checked out some strange accidents in town, lay in the bed closest to the door. On the bed next to his was his whole arsenal, spread out for cleaning, along with a pile of dirty clothes that he needed to find a Laundromat to clean at. After a long night of research and cleaning, Sam was tangled in his bed sheet, sleep clouded by strange dreams.

_"Dean?"_

Sam couldn't take his eyes off of the brother he thought had died three years ago, but was somehow sitting next to him in the driver's seat of the Impala. Dean was rubbing his hands down the steering wheel adoringly, body looking intact and just as it had before the hell hounds got to him, but he didn't show any sings of having heard his little brother. Sam couldn't get any more words to come out of his mouth, but he needed to get Dean's attention, voice be damned.

He was still struggling to form words when Dean snapped to attention, turning his emerald gaze on Sam.

"Sammy … "Dean swallowed, eyes misting over as he started to reach out, but stopped himself half way and brought his hand to rest against his thigh again. "Sammy," He repeated his little brother's name, but this time with more finality. "We need to talk."

"Sure, sure Dean, but how are you – "

"There's no time for that," Dean interrupted; face set seriously," We've got business to take care of."

Sam nodded, still searching his brother for some kind of explanation, but knowing the tone Dean was using left no room for argument. "Yeah, okay, what kind of business?"

His older brother hesitated, thinking his words out carefully. "I made a …. A bad decision, and I'm gonna need you to fix it for me. Can you do that for me, Sammy?"

"What kind of bad decision?" Sam asked, eye brows furrowed in confusion. His brother wasn't making any sense, at least, not to Sam.

"A bad one." Dean broke eye contact, diverting his gaze out the window, where all Sam could see was darkness, but Dean could somehow see more. "Look, it was a mistake. She was good for only one thing, and -" He paused again, gathering up his thoughts, before turning back to Sam. "You have to help him; it's my fault – My fault he's here, so you've got to give him a chance, for me?"

Sam found himself nodding, even though he had no idea what Dean was talking about, but the pained expression on his face was enough to make him agree. "Yeah, Dean, alright, but you're not making any sense here, bro. Who are you talking about?"

"You'll know. Just … Take care of him, okay? Take some time off from the job; settle down for a little bit as the Scotts or something until he's ready."

"Time off from the job?" The thought was incredible, something that didn't seem possible for a Winchester. "Dean, you know I can't do that, innocent lives are at stake – "

"Sam, just for a couple of years, please," Dean was practically begging," You can have that normal life you always wanted, for a little while at least, and you can train him, get him prepared."

Sam's head was aching trying to understand the conversation, but he found himself having to make a quick decision as his brother started fading in and out. "Okay Dean, I'll do it." He didn't know if he could really keep that promise, but right now that didn't matter, all that mattered was reassuring his brother before he left.

"Good, I know you'll be great at it," Dean said, while giving Sam one of his rare, non-cocky, warm smiles. "And make sure to check under the beds before you leave, alright?"

Tears were welling up in his eyes as he watched his brother's form flicker strongly before he faded away, leaving Sam alone in the Impala. He looked around frantically, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dean, but found the car empty and the space outside the car still black and full of nothing-ness.

_"Dean?!"_

Sam shot up in bed, heart still racing as a lone tear trickled down his cheek. He hurried to brush it away before turning on the bedside lamp, disappointed when he looked to the bed beside him and found only weapons. The dream had been so vivid – he swore he could even smell Dean, the odd mixture of leather, oil, and cologne that followed him every where. Could it have just been his mind playing tricks on him? Sam turned the light back off and settled into bed again, trying to forget about the dream and get back to sleep, but feeling a weird sensation in the pit of his stomach. Something was going to happen and his brother knew it, but what?

With a sigh of frustration, he reached over and turned the light back on. Dean said to check under the beds, so maybe there was some kind of answer down there. Sam got down on all fours, feeling like an idiot, but needing to solve this before he could get any shut eye. His eyes scanned underneath the bed, but he found nothing. He switched to the other bed, lifting the bed skirt with a grimace at the floor that must not have been vacuumed in decades, and found a lone piece of paper. Pulling it out and into the light, Sam discovered it was a gas receipt, from a station in Casper, Wyoming. Was that what Dean wanted him to do, go to Casper? Or did he want him to buy gas?

He placed the receipt on the nightstand, leaving it to study in the morning. Right now his brain needed rest, and rest it was going to get. The dream was probably nothing anyways. Or so he hoped …

SN

Since the age of five, whenever Weston Smith thought of his father a hero came to mind. Someone who saved peoples lives daily whether he was on the job or not. His dad was a firefighter by day, super hero by night, or something similar, always jobs that helped other people and animals. It was left entirely to his imagination, since his mother wouldn't, or couldn't, offer up any information on the mysterious two week boyfriend she'd had that was his father. When Weston wasn't with any of his friends, which was most of the time, he'd play pretend in his room or the park across the street. If it was a sunny day, he would fight crime by his dad's side, running in and out of the tubes on the jungle gym, but if it was raining outside, his bedroom became a jungle they were searching for some rare specie of animal that needed saving from poachers.

His mother didn't care, it kept him out of her hair on hot Texas days when all she wanted was to sit inside and have a cold can of beer. Grandma sometimes complained he wasn't socializing enough and claimed something needed to be done, but then she'd retreat back to her big house in the city and forget all about him. He was glad, though, he didn't want to be forced to play with the other kids when he could be with his dad.

So when his third grade teacher asked him to write a short essay on his hero, Weston didn't give a seconds thought on who he'd write it about, there was only one person. Mrs. Gable didn't ask any questions when he turned in his paper, at least not out right. She did give him a note to take home for his mom, but he didn't think anything of it.

His mother had just gotten off work and had sat down on her lumpy couch in exhaustion. Her son came home from school and handed her the note, something that surprised her, since her son was usually quiet and well behaved. Her brow knitted in confusion as she read it.

"Weston, you been lying to your teacher?" Mom's Southern drawl hung in the air, Weston looking back at her with just as much confusion as she felt. "Weston?"

"N-no, ma'am, not that I know of … "His eyes flicked back in forth as he racked his brain for any moment his teacher would have felt he was lying to her.

She fixed her son with a strict gaze as she spoke," Says here you made up stuff in a paper of yours."

Weston's look of innocence that he'd taken faltered and he reached for his backpack to pull out its contents. He fished around for a little bit before finding the paper he wanted, and then handed it to his mother. She read over the two paragraphs Weston had written earlier that day and let out a sigh.

"What is this Weston?"

"The essay Mrs. Gable had us write today about our hero, I thought that might be what she wrote the note about," He said, freckled cheeks turning red at the thought that maybe his mom didn't like his writing.

Mom shook her head. "She wanted you to write about a real person, boy, that's why she says you're lying to her."

"But –"

"This counts as make believe, 'cause you don't know if your daddy actually does these things," His mom said, exasperated with Weston's obliviousness.

He slowly nodded his head in understanding, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself. "Sorry …"

She sighed." Just go grab me a glass of milk, will ya'?"

Weston did as he was told. He regretted ever writing the paper, after the incident his mother wouldn't tell him anything else about his father. Even when he begged, she wouldn't give, saying she 'didn't want him filling his head with silly thoughts.'

He got used to the idea of not having a dad by the time he was in the fifth grade, even when all the other boys talked about the trips they went on with their dads and all the cool stuff they were teaching them. It wasn't until his mom packed herself and Weston up, after a man broke into their house with a gun and nearly shot both of them, and moved to Casper, Wyoming, his interest was renewed. During their unpacking he stumbled upon a picture of his dad and mom, the back written on in his mother's poor hand writing, _Me and Dean 1997_. By then, his mom had started using drugs as a lifestyle and he was looking for the fastest way out of the small apartment he had to share with her and her various boyfriends.

It was 2011 now, a year after their move, and Weston sat on his bed staring at the picture of the man who could be his one way ticket out of his crappy life in Casper. But that would never happen, because as much as he hated her, he couldn't abandon his mom. Someone had to make sure the bills were paid on time, someone had to keep the fridge stocked with food other than beer, and that someone definitely wasn't Mom.

Weston let out a weary sigh; he just needed something in his stomach to help get him out of this funk. After refolding the picture and putting it in his back pocket, he went over to his dresser to grab out some money for McDonalds, along with a roll of gauze and some tape. He needed to cover up the still bleeding cut on his arm before he left, the beer bottle the guy in the living room with his mom had thrown at him having got him pretty deep. _Bastard._ He finished taping the gauze down, then, avoiding going through the front door and drawing attention to him; Weston went out his window, which had become more of a front door to him anyway. He sauntered away from the apartment building, fist shoved into his too long pant's pockets.

It wasn't a far walk to McDonalds, and Weston's old converse sneakers knew the way by heart, so that gave his mind time to wander. The first thing his mind thought of was Dean Winchester. Damn, if he could ever get away from the fantasy of his of finding his dad, Weston's life wouldn't be so miserable. _But maybe he thinks of me, too._ That wasn't likely though, hadn't Mom said his dad had left before she could tell him she was pregnant? _He doesn't even know I exist._

Entering the McDonalds, Weston felt relief wash over him as the smell of deep fried food hit his nose. Everything was going to be okay. He walked up to the counter and ordered his norm, a burger with extra pickles and onions, a small fry, and a small coke. He didn't have enough money to spare for anything bigger. The employee, who looked slightly stoned, couldn't get his food fast enough, and Weston found himself shifting from foot to foot while he waited. Finally the guy got it together, Weston paid, and he hurried to sit at the bar not to far off.

The moment he sat down, he had his burger in his mouth. He devoured it in less than a minute and had to hurry to take a drink of his coke to wash it down. The fries he took longer to eat, enjoying each bite now that his mysterious anxiety he got when food was first placed in front of him was gone, taken away by the burger. While munching on the greasy potatoes, if they were even made out of real potatoes, he looked around at the other occupants of the restaurant. There was a tall, kind of scary looking dude sitting two seats away from him, a couple in the booth next to the bar, and a family in the back. Weston watched the family with longing, as they all laughed and talked over their meal as if they were at home and not in some grimy fast food joint.

Maybe their home was with each other?

His attention was only drawn away from his oddly deep thought as he sucked at his drink and only air came through his straw.

"Damn," he muttered, glaring at the two fries he had left. Those were probably going to be the saltiest little suckers in the world, now that he was out of his drink.

"Need me to buy you another one?"

Weston looked up as Scary Dude spoke to him, using a surprisingly kind sounding voice. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, no one ever offered to buy some kid they didn't know a drink without some hidden meaning. But, a free coke would be nice …

He shrugged. "It's your money."

Scary Dude stood up and walked over to the cash register and ordered a large coke. Weston's eye brows rose well into his hair line. He didn't truly believe it was for him, though, until it was placed on the counter top in front of him.

"Thanks," Weston said, eating his last two fries before taking a long gulp of the soft drink. _I don't think either of those had a bit of salt on them!_ So he'd been concerned over nothing, but hey, a coke was a coke.

"You're welcome," Scary Dude said, taking his seat again. "Hey, can you answer something for me?"

Weston shrugged, again, in response.

"Why aren't you with your family?"

His family?

Those words made something snap inside of Weston, and before he could stop himself, the water works began. _The only person I can consider real family doesn't even know I'm alive, and probably doesn't care!_ Tears and snot mixed together as they ran down his face, and he felt like such a girl for it, but he couldn't stop himself if the world depended on it. He tried to hide his face from the man next to him, but he could still feel his eyes staring at him, and Weston considered standing up and running out of the place. The only thing that stopped him was the comforting hand Scary Dude put on his shoulder, and he couldn't help but lean into the touch. No one had ever cared, and even if he didn't know this guy and even if he could be some total creep, Weston was going to take advantage of his compassion for the time being.

SN

Sobs racked the kid's shoulders. Sam wondered what he had said wrong, but for now, he just kept his hand on the boy in reassurance. He did cast a nervous glance around the store to check if anyone was watching, but finding no one was, relaxed. It was a few minutes before the kid was calmed down again, and Sam offered a napkin to wipe his face off with.

"You okay?"

The kid gave a small nod, taking the napkin from Sam with a look of gratitude. With his hands and the napkin positioned like he was about to blow his nose, Sam barely caught the words he said under his breath.

"I didn't want to be a stupid Winchester anyways."

Sam's eyes widened. "What did you say?"

He looked up with confusion. "What?"

"What did you just say?" Sam asked again, this time louder.

"I … I didn't wanna be a Winchester. Why does it matter?" He spoke, his accented voice now nasally and jumbled sounding.

"Why would you say that?" Sam's brow was furrowed in concentration, half because he was trying to understand the kid and half because he felt a light bulb go on in his brain, like this was it, this was what Dean had been talking about. This couldn't be a coincidence, Sam had a feeling in his gut it wasn't.

"Why do you care?"

Sam tried not to sound demanding as he spoke again," Please, just tell me why you said that?"

"My dad, Dean Winchester, left me with my mom, who really sucks, and I wanted to find him, but now I don't want to because he probably doesn't care 'bout me anyways," he explained, and Sam's jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

"Oh my god, you're him," Sam said to himself in awe. This was who Dean was talking about, his son! This kid was a Winchester, and he was in trouble so that meant as the last remaining Winchester, Sam had to help him - Wait, Dean had a son, which meant Dean was a Dad. Did that mean Sam was an uncle? Sam's mind was spinning, but he had to pull himself together, because the kid (Dean's kid!) was giving him a strange look. "What's your name?"

"Weston Smith," he answered slowly. "Why are you asking me all of these questions?"

"I'm Sam Winchester, Dean was my brother."

"Can I see some ID?" Weston didn't trust him, and it was evident in the red rimmed look he gave him.

Sam dug around in his pocket for his wallet, pulling out a driver's license from his Stanford days, one he kept hidden, but always close. It had his real name on it, a rare occurrence, and now he was especially glad he'd kept it. He held it out for Weston to inspect, who took it and looked it over scrupulously.

Now that Sam looked closer, he found Weston had similar features that Dean had his early teenaged years; the fading splatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks, a sleek, but naturally sturdy body build, and sparkling emerald eyes. His hair was different, a deep brown that was almost black, and his face had a softer shape to it, but the rest of the kid screamed Dean.

"Well?" Sam asked expectantly.

Weston handed the license back. "I think I believe you."

"You think?"

He chewed nervously at his bottom lip, but gave a firm nod in reply to Sam's question. Sam was glad they'd taken care of that, but what now? He couldn't just ask Weston what was wrong in his life that would make Dean visit Sam from the land of the dead, could he? They sat in silence, staring awkwardly at each other.

"So … Wanna go to my house?" Weston asked, breaking eye contact with Sam to look out the window of the restaurant. "You can meet my mom, I guess."

"Sure," Sam said, getting up from his chair and heading for the door, Weston following a few steps behind. "Mind going in my car?"

Weston stopped in front of Sam's beast of a car, eyes darting from it to him. Finally, he shrugged and walked to the passenger side, getting in once Sam unlocked the doors. Sam put the key in the ignition, jumping to turn the volume of the music down once the Impala had started and Motorhead started blaring through the speakers.

"Sorry," He said as he backed out of the McDonalds's parking spot.

"No problem."

The two were silent for a moment, until Weston cleared his throat nervously. "You won't … Y'know, tell anyone about – "

Sam shook his head. "Consider it forgotten," he said, and then partly to change the subject, and partly because he needed to know, asked," Where am I going, exactly?"

"Oh yeah. Go down this road for three traffic lights, than turn on Clement Street," Weston directed, sounding relieved, but still slightly distrustful.

Sam couldn't blame the kid, he barely believed himself. God, an uncle … He guessed this was bound to happen, with all of Dean's messing around, but now? And on top of that, he had to go meet Weston's mom, who Dean had told him plain and clear was a no good tramp. Wish you were here Dean, would make this a lot easier.

"So, how old are you, Weston?"

"Thirteen."

"You look older then that," Sam said absently, turning on to Clement Street at the same time an old Cadillac came speeding down the road, peeling out in front of an on coming car before disappearing down another street. The windows were tinted, so Sam couldn't get a good look inside, but judging by the area, this was probably a normal happening. Still, something about the car unsettled him.

"Everyone says that," Weston said before pointing to a shabby apartment complex on the left side of the road," That's it."

"Which one?" Sam asked as he pulled into the driveway that led to the parking spots in the back of the building.

"Four," Weston said, waiting until Sam had parked and then exiting the car.

Sam hurried to catch up with his nephew, who was already at the front of the building with his key withdrawn. He reached Weston just as he stopped in front of the door with the large number four on it. Sam was confused as to what was stopping Weston from entering, until he realized the door was ajar and a familiar odor was coming out of it. It was the odor of blood, lots of it.

"Wait here," Sam said, pushing passed Weston and into the apartment.

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**a/n: **Well, there's the first chapter. The second one should be up next Thrusday.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Damage Inc.

Chapter Two

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**Disclaimer -** I own nothing except Weston Smith.

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He'd never smelled anything like it before, and if he had been smart, he would have been able to guess it couldn't mean anything good, and he would have just listened to his newly found uncle and stayed outside. But instead, Weston stepped over the threshold and inside his apartment. The first thing he saw was the splatters of red across the back wall of the living room, and than Sam leaning over two bodies. Weston recognized the person who still had her face intact right away, and proceeded to vomit all over the carpet. He thought the smell was bad, but the sight of it all –

Weston didn't remember what happened after that, just flashes of Sam pulling him away from the apartment while he shouted for his mom, and than driving away in the Impala. Weston couldn't even remember what the outside of the motel his uncle had dropped him off at looked like, all he remembered was the pillow he dug his face into, to try and block the image away. He stayed like that a long time, even after Sam had left to go and get some of Weston's stuff from his old room (and he thought of it as old room because there was no way in hell he was going back to that apartment) and left him alone.

But he did remember Sam sitting at the foot of his bed, a hand placed on his back soothingly while he whispered 'I'm here, its okay.' And ever since then it was just him and his uncle, Weston's first ever family.

"_Weston?"_

Weston continued to mumble to himself, oblivious to the desk his face was shoved uncomfortably against, and the many sets of eyes staring at him.

"Winchester!"

The sharp sound of his last name made Weston jump. Startled from his sleep, he hurried to wipe the drool that had pooled on his desk away as his Math teacher, Mr. Simms, made his way across the classroom to stand over him, boring his beady eyes into him in what he thought was a demeaning way.

"I will not tolerate anyone continuously sleeping through my class," Mr. Simms spoke, slapping a piece of paper in front of Weston," Principal's office. Now."

"Yes sir," Weston grumbled, taking the teacher's note as he backed his chair out and headed to the door. Giggling and chuckling came from the rest of the class, who just loved to see the weird, quiet kid get yelled at, and although the thought of giving them all the finger was tempting, Weston ignored them and kept walking.

Drifting down the halls, Weston had no trouble finding the principal's office. He'd been there enough over the passed year and a half. He let out a sigh as he stood before the door to the office, knowing Sam was going to have a hissy fit if he found out. Maybe Ms. Martin would let him off easy and he wouldn't have to find out? But as Weston entered the room, and the secretary looked over her glasses at him and muttered something close to 'you again' under her breath, he doubted that was going to happen. And besides, Ms. Martin only went easy on the kids who played sports, because God forbid they miss a practice while they're in detention.

"Take a seat; I'll let her know you're here."

Weston shuffled over to one of the plastic chairs lined against the wall and sat down softly. Despite the height and bulk he'd put on, Weston could still be just as quiet as he had when he'd been only a 5'8, hundred and ten pound teeny bopper sneaking around his old apartment. That was something his uncle had drilled into his head, though. _Always stay silent, no need to let others know you're coming._ Sure helped out when the jocks waiting for him in the locker room stood there like idiots, talking about what they were going to do to 'Texas,' as Weston had been non-too-fondly nicknamed, while he slipped out the door.

"Winchester, you can go in now," Mrs. Holt said from behind her desk, not bothering to look up from her work to address him.

Weston got up and went into the office where Ms. Martin was waiting for him. She was a small woman who looked stupid behind her huge desk, but she could strike fear into the hearts of all the students at Big Walnut High with just one look. Weston wasn't excluded from this fear, as he was determined the woman was made of pure evil.

"Hello, Ms. Martin," He greeted politely; hoping charm might be able to save him.

Ms. Martin sent him an electrified glare, speaking with loathing in her voice. "Weston. I see you've been sent to my office. Again."

Excuses were futile against her, so Weston just nodded his head solemnly. He might've been sixteen years old, but the woman could reduce him to a cowering nine year old.

"Did you get sent with a note?" She asked, holding her hand out expectantly. Weston placed the paper in her hand, and she skimmed over it with hawk like blue eyes. "Sleeping in class for the second time this week?" Ms. Martin placed the note on her desk, sitting back in her chair while shaking her head and making a 'tsking' noise. "Tell me, Weston, what could possibly be busying you so much at night that you have no time to sleep? Its not like you're on a sports team, you can't be exhausted from running around all day."

Weston kept a steady gaze, but he didn't move to open his mouth. _If you only knew, lady._

They sat in silence, until Ms. Martin finally accepted she wasn't getting an answer out of him. She picked up her phone. "Well, we just can't stand for this constant misbehavior. Obviously the punishments aren't helping, and talking to you is a lost cause. I'll just have to set up a meeting with your uncle."

"Wait!"

Ms. Martin held the phone mid-way to her ear.

"Don't bother him, this isn't Sam's fault," Weston said, causing Ms. Martin to slowly place the phone back down. "In fact, if it wasn't for my uncle, I'm sure I wouldn't even be in school. He's the closest thing I have to a father … "Weston continued to spew a sob story about his absent father and how Weston would probably be in jail right now if it weren't for his loving, caring uncle who took him in. He added dramatic pauses were he pretended to fight back tears, until Ms. Martin finally caved.

"Alright, alright, but if what all you say is true, than I believe I need to set up a different meeting."

"With who?"

Ms. Martin smiled. "Why with the guidance counselor. You obviously have some very deep, emotional problems, and I think if you talked with Mr. Camp about it, you'd feel much better."

Weston grimaced. Shit, he hadn't seen his plan back firing on him like this. The thought of spending time with the gayest man in the world, talking about feelings and angsting over the past, was something he didn't look forward to. _But at least I spared Sam an extra worry._ That's what he kept telling himself as he walked out of the office. This was all for Sam, this was all for Sam … _Damn, this sucks out loud._

SN

Sam was in more of a hurry than normal to grab his shit and get out of the warehouse he worked at and get home. He'd received a phone call earlier from Weston's principal, saying she was concerned about his nephew's well being. She wanted him to come in for a meeting on next Monday. _Damn kid, getting in trouble again._ He thought they'd talked about Weston's attitude after the last high school he nearly got kicked out of.

He drove home faster than necessary, anger and worry pressing his foot down harder on the pedal. When he pulled into the driveway of the small house he rented, he didn't take much time to park and get out. The Impala was already in the garage, so that meant Weston was home from school. Sam jumped the two steps onto the porch and was inside the two bedroom house in ten seconds flat.

"Weston?" Sam called while throwing his bag and jacket on the small sofa they had in the living room.

After receiving no answer, Sam went down the hallway to where his and Weston's bedrooms were. Both doors were open with no one inside them, so he figured his nephew had to be down stairs. The basement was where the weight set was kept, along with a dart board, stereo, and small TV. It was Weston's hang out, and he spent most of the day down there.

Sam stopped half way down the stairs leading into the basement, because from there he could see Weston on the bench press with head phones in his ears.

"Weston!"

This caught Weston's attention, and he put the weights down and took the head phones out.

"Huh?"

Sam glared at the teenager, who was using his best 'what?' face, like he didn't know what was going on. "Why didn't you tell me you were getting in trouble at school again? I thought we went over this."

"How'd you – "Weston paused, than brought his fist down on the bench. "That bitch," he muttered under his breath, before turning back to his uncle. "Ms. Martin called you, didn't she?"

"Yeah, she did, and she wants me to come to your school for a meeting to discuss the problems you're having," Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you maybe want to tell me what these 'problems' are before she does so I don't look completely incompetent?"

Weston wiped his hands on the grey shorts he was wearing. "It's not what you think, Sam. Mr. Simms is just a prick; he makes me go to the principal's office for everything. And all the other teachers complain about me because they know my record and think I'm some no good punk."

"What's 'everything'?"

Weston shrugged. "Not doing a few assignments, falling asleep in class, maybe a few 'dumb ass' remarks."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Why aren't you doing your assignments?"

"We've been busy," Weston answered shortly while settling back on the bench so he could continue his weight lifting.

Sam racked his brain for something to say back to his nephew, but found his mouth unable to form a response. What kind of solution could he come up with to give Weston more time to study? _None._ Weston had already been on his first hunt and needed to start going on more, so they couldn't cut back on that or his training. Unless the two of them never slept, it was impossible to make more time for studying.

He moved on from that subject for now, he'd have to go back to it later when he had more time to think. _More time, that's all I need._ He let out a sigh and sat down on one of the steps, suddenly feeling the impact the day's work had on him.

"That can't be all you've done," Sam said, eyeing his nephew wearily.

Weston paused in his work out. "There might've been a disagreement with one of the jocks that I had that led to some retaliation I got the full blame for."

Sam threw his hands up into the air. "Why haven't I heard of this until now?"

"I did community work to make up for it so they wouldn't call you."

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling a lot older than thirty-one. _If I only knew what I was getting into back then._ Hell, even if he did know about the shit he was going to have to deal with taking Weston in, he still would have. The poor kid didn't even realize how messed up he had been, and still was. From lack of parental involvement and just plain love, Weston had been a hard case for Sam. God knows it took him months to break the kid from the habit of wolfing down his food the moment it was placed in front of him, and it had even taken him a while to get Weston to the point where they could have a conversation like the one they were now.

"What kind of retaliation?" Sam asked, wondering if he even wanted to know.

Weston remained silent, his gaze shifting nervously to his uncle and then back to the weights. Sam could tell he was deciding the best way to answer to make it sound like it was no big deal, not to be worried over it.

"The bitch spread a rumor about me around school, so I put Nair into his soap, 'cause he uses some pansy-ass body wash," Weston said, grinning to himself," It was pretty freakin' hilarious when Coach Phillips found out, he thought Wheaton had shaved his legs or something."

"Then?"

"Then he said to meet him at some lot off school property so he and his buddies could beat the shit out of me, and if I didn't show up they'd make sure 'I wish I had,' or some crap like that." Weston got off the bench to get a drink of water.

He leaned against the back of the couch that was positioned in front of the TV, gulping down most of the bottle. When he was finished he threw the bottle back onto the couch.

"So I slashed all their tires, and that's when Wheaton went crying to Ms. Martin."

Weston acted as if there was nothing to it, but Sam was in shock that this could all go on without it ever once being mentioned to him.

"So, wait, this was all over a rumor this Wheaton kid started?" Sam asked, trying to remember if fights were started over such trivial things back when he was in high school. _God, it feels like that was forever ago _…

"Uh … Not exactly. You remember Sara?"

"The little brunette you went out with a couple of times?"

"That's her," Weston said, then averted his eyes to the floor. "Ends up she was going out with Wheaton. She only went out with me because they were having some kind of fight, but Wheaton didn't believe me when I told him."

Sam nodded his head in understanding. "She played you."

Weston was chewing at his bottom lip, still not meeting his uncle's gaze. Sam figured it had been harder on Weston than he let on, so he decided to let the subject drop. If he pushed for too much information, Weston would close him out completely. _I'm always walking on egg shells._ But that was just the way things worked.

Sam stood up, stretching his muscles and letting out a deep yawn. "I'm gonna get started on dinner, any requests?"

"How about a steak?" Weston asked cheekily while flopping down on the couch and turning the TV on.

"Ha, smart ass, you're so funny," Sam said with a smile on his face.

He climbed up the stairs and shut the basement door behind him so Weston could turn his music up if he wanted to. Sam went into the kitchen, finding the answering machine blinking with one missed call. He pressed the play button for the voice mail that was left. Turning to grab the rice out of the cupboard, Sam froze when he heard the voice that started to speak through the phone's speakers.

-SN-

Hunger biting at his insides, Weston turned off the old South Park rerun he'd managed to find and made his way upstairs. Sam would have dinner almost done by now and he'd need to set the table before his uncle finished. That was the deal they'd made for meals, whoever didn't cook had to set the table and do the dishes afterwards. Neither of them were very good cooks though, and Weston wished it was one of the, two days out of the week they got to order take out from someplace in town.

_In town._ Weston snorted at the thought. Big Walnut wasn't exactly the most happenin' town, with only two pizza places and a Chinese joint to choose from.

But Weston couldn't really complain as long as there was food on the table.

He pulled out of his thoughts as he entered the kitchen, expecting to find some form of chicken on the stove. Instead, the room was empty, bare of any signs of dinner except for a discarded bag of rice on the counter top.

"Sam?" Weston called, not seeing his giant of an uncle anywhere.

He went to the back of the house, finding Sam in his room.

"Sam?" He asked from the doorway, watching the man move from his dresser to a half full duffel bag on his bed.

"Go pack a week's worth of clothes."

"Why?" Weston was confused by his uncle's uncharacteristic shortness.

Sam spun around to face him. "I said go pack your bag," he said, absolute seriousness in his voice.

Weston silently left to do as his uncle said, a bad feeling crawling around inside him. In the three years he'd been with Sam, Weston had never seen him act this way, at least not towards him. It reminded him of when he had first met his uncle and thought he looked like one scary son of a bitch.

It took him ten minutes to gather all of the clothes Sam had told him to pack before he zipped up his bag and waited for the next order. That came as Sam passed by his door, saying distractedly "Go get in the car."

"Which one?"

"The Impala."

Weston scurried out the door, threw his bag into the backseat, and got into the passenger side of the vehicle. _We must be going a long distance if Sam doesn't want to take the junker._ The slamming of the trunk before Sam got into the car also had Weston wondering. They normally just threw their stuff into the backseat, only using the trunk for bulk items and their weapons whenever they went out to the range. _Weapons. Maybe we're going on a hunt?_ His heart jumped at the idea. His second hunt! But why wouldn't Sam just tell him that …

"We're going to South Dakota."

And that was the only information Weston had to go off of as his uncle sped away from their house, rock music blaring as they settled in for an eight hour drive.

* * *

**a/n: **Sorry it's so short, next chapter will be longer, promise!


	3. Chapter 3

Damage Inc.

Chapter Three

* * *

**Disclaimer -** I own nothing except Weston Smith.

* * *

Weston blinked away the sleep in his eyes as they pulled up to an old house that looked like it had seen better days. He wouldn't have thought the house would have been there at all though, judging from the appearance of the salvage yard from the dirt road leading to it. He turned a questioning gaze to his uncle, but Sam was watching the side door of the house intently and didn't notice him. To be honest, Weston was surprised that he was still functioning, considering it was now nearing one a.m. and Sam hadn't slept since five o'clock the previous morning.

"Grab you shit," Sam ordered as soon as he saw the light go on outside the door, moving to get out of the Impala himself.

Weston followed suite, shutting the door gently to the car incase someone was sleeping inside the house. He slung his duffel over his shoulder, waiting for Sam to gather up his stuff and lead the way to the door. Before they made it up the steps, a man that had to be in his mid sixties opened the door. He nodded wearily at Sam in greeting, but hesitated when he spotted Weston.

"Hey, Sam … "He spoke slowly, moving aside to allow them to come inside.

"Bobby," Sam said in reply.

Weston wasn't sure by how they spoke if his uncle liked this guy, so he was on full alert for anything suspicious. It wasn't until he watched Sam grab the man in a half bear hug, stopped from wrapping both his arms around the older man by his bags, that Weston let his guard down. So these two knew each other pretty well. Weston watched them curiously, noticing now the almost fatherly way the man, Bobby he guessed his name was, was looking at Sam.

"Who's this?" Bobby asked, eyes moving between him and Sam.

Sam didn't meet Bobby's eyes as he answered," Weston."

"How ya' do, Weston?" Bobby greeted coolly, only his slightly wide eyes showing his confusion over the new comer.

Weston shrugged, not feeling comfortable enough to answer with words. He looked to Sam for directions on what to do next, brain moving slowly from lack of sleep and depriving him of some of his critical thinking skills. Sam motioned for him to follow him through the kitchen and into the hallway.

"Bedroom is the second door to the left, and right across from it is the closet with the sheets you're going to need. Pick the yellow ones, they'll fit on the bunk bed and if you don't mind grab the red ones for me, too."

Leaving the two men by themselves, Weston hurried to follow the instructions his uncle had given him so he could get into bed just that much quicker.

-SN-

Bobby's gaze followed Weston down the hall, until the teenager disappeared into the spare bedroom. _Winchester HQ_, Sam remembered fondly the name he and his brother had given the room, _back in the day._ It made his heart ache to think of those days, so he focused his attention on his old friend, who was more like a father to him then his own.

"Want to sit down and explain to me who that boy is?" Bobby's voice was lowered enough so that it didn't carry down the hallway.

Sam nodded, going back into the kitchen and sitting down at the table. Bobby handed him a fresh cup of coffee, which Sam accepted graciously. He didn't really know where to start with his explanation of how he'd found Weston without Bobby thinking he was crazy, but then, the old man had stuck by the Winchesters through many crazy times.

"Three years ago, Dean came to me in a dream … "And from there Sam went on to tell Bobby the whole story, from start to finish.

Bobby looked a little hurt that Sam had cut off communication with him just because of Weston. But instead of voicing his feelings, he stared thoughtfully at the grooves in the wood table. When he did open his mouth to speak, Sam was reminded why he loved the elder man so much.

"He can hunt then?"

Sam was about as grateful as a person could be that Bobby didn't question him or his story, just took it as it was and moved on. That was probably why him and Dad had stayed friends over the years, because Bobby didn't stop to question every move Dad made, no matter how stupid or crazy it would sound to someone else. _Well, that's not entirely true, Bobby did argue over some things with Dad. _But those arguments were far spread, and mostly were about the choices Dad would make involving Sam and Dean.

"He's a Winchester alright, first time I handed the kid a shotgun he bulls eyed every target," Sam said with a small chuckle, "Went on his first hunt last month."

"Must be pretty good if you took him out already," Bobby sounded impressed, but a little wary still. "You don't plan on – "

"Taking him with us? Hell no!" Sam wouldn't have taken Weston with them on this hunt unless he had at least ten more years of experience first. "Now why don't you tell me all you know so far, because God knows we are going to need to be as prepared as possible for this son of a bitch."

-SN-

Waking in a haze, Weston blinked cautiously at first as he gathered his bearings and figured out where he was. Shielding his eyes from the sun that pierced through the closed blinds, he remembered they were at some old guy's house. _Bobby, right?_ Weston slowly placed his feet on the old carpet that covered the floor of the large bedroom he was in. He was careful not to hit his head on the top bunk as he stood up. He also had to avoid the full size bed in the room as he hurried to find his uncle.

"Sam?" Weston called hoarsely, mouth and throat dry from sleep.

There was sounds of feet shuffling, and then Sam poked his head out from what Weston assumed was the living room. "Over here, Weston."

_Does he not sleep?_ Weston shook his head in disbelief, because he knew Sam hadn't hit the sack until at least an hour after him. But he lived on caffeine so he could pull off all-nighters, which was why Weston wasn't surprised to find Sam sitting with a large mug of coffee in his hand when he came into the living room.

Weston dropped down into an aging couch, that nearly swallowed him up in it's cushions. He fought to sit up, but gave up. He needed to eat something before he'd have enough energy to fight with the couch.

"So, where's Bobby?" Weston questioned, noticing the owner of the dusty home was missing.

Sam spoke from behind his newspaper, "Gathering some items."

He wasn't giving any more intel, so Weston turned his attention to the room. Amidst the mountains of books and papers, he spotted a turn table with a stack of old albums beside it. His eyes lit up at the find, and after glancing towards his uncle, Weston pulled himself off the couch and went over to the albums.

_Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon? _Weston unconsciously scrunched his nose, and then grabbed the next album in the pile. He had to wipe away the layer of dirt and dust that had settled on the cover to be able to read the title, coughing all the while as the particles flew into his nose and mouth. _Queensryche, a step up from Pink Floyd, I guess._ Weston picked out a couple of the records he wanted to listen to and set them aside for later.

Now he needed to find some breakfast, his stomach emphasizing that thought with a loud growl. _Breakfast it is._

He straightened himself from his previous squatting position and was about to ask Sam where the food was only to find his uncle already watching him.

"What?"

Sam's mossy green eyes flicked between the albums and Weston, and he swallowed before answering. "Nothing, just … Those LPs, they were Deans."

Weston mimicked his uncle, swallowing down feelings neither of them wanted to address. He didn't know what to say to Sam, so the room settled into a heavy silence. The tension wasn't broke until Bobby came inside, two bags in his arms that Weston hurried to help him with, distracting himself from the thoughts of his deceased father. While taking one of the bags, Weston saw the contents, which were far from every day items.

"What's this for?" Weston asked, looking up with a sense of urgency. He recognized some of the objects as pieces used in rituals and summoning spells, but he couldn't be sure.

Bobby didn't say anything, just continued to unpack his bag of whatever the hell it was, and Sam didn't look like he was about to start explaining either. _Freakin' great._ So Weston could assume this had something to do with why him and Sam were in South Dakota, and that he wasn't going to be told anything about it. _I just need something to eat, that'll clear my mind._

"Mind if I get some food from the fridge?" Weston asked, half expected to be ignored.

"Help yourself."

Weston did just that. By the time he sat back down in the living room, he had a mound of various foods on his plate, along with a large glass of milk. He started in on a cold piece of pizza, gulping it down with little trouble.

"Slow down," Sam reminded, finally speaking to him.

"Yes, mother," Weston grumbled.

Bobby joined them; sitting on the other end of the couch Weston was on. Weston could feel the elder man's eyes on him. When he thought he couldn't take it any more and he was about to snap at Bobby to cut it out, the man started speaking to him.

"So, Sam tells me you're originally from Texas," he said, trying to make small talk.

Weston inwardly grimaced at the word 'Texas.' "Yeah, hard to tell, huh?" His voice was laced with sarcasm, but he tried to hide it and not be disrespectful to the man that had so far provided food and a warm bed for him.

"Not so much." Bobby chuckled, and Weston was pretty sure it was because the old man sensed his sarcasm. "How old are you again, eighteen?"

"Sixteen," Weston corrected.

"Right, right," Bobby said, scratching at his head beneath the trucker cap he kept firmly placed down. "Excuse the senior moment."

"It wasn't a senior moment, Bobby, he's just a giant is all," Sam said, entering the conversation.

The two laughed, and Weston wondered if there was some inside joke behind the words.

"Ah, good ol' John," Bobby said fondly, eyes taking on a far away look.

Weston watched as Sam and Bobby slipped into silence. He didn't dare ask who John was; he recognized the look the two older men had well enough from when Sam ever mentioned Dean.

Bobby shook himself of the mood faster then Weston's uncle. "So, Weston, how about school, you take after your uncle there?"

"What do you mean?"

"While most kids counted down the days to summer, I counted down the days to the first day of school," Sam said with a grin," I was quite the nerd, even scored a full ride to Stanford."

Weston let out a low whistle. "I'm nothing like Sam in school, then."

Bobby seemed to sense a different comparison could be made, and quickly changed the subject. "How about your hunting skills? Sam says you're real sharp at the job."

"Really?" Weston turned to his uncle in surprise. He'd figured as long as Sam wasn't yelling at him he was doing okay, but he never thought Sam would believe he was good at it.

Sam half smiled, pride showing.

Weston couldn't help the blush that crept onto his cheeks. He wasn't used to being complimented, especially from someone he respected as highly as Sam. He couldn't bring himself to say anything to Bobby, afraid he might choke up.

"Well, we can talk later," Bobby said, hauling himself to his feet," I've got to go feed the dogs."

Both Winchester's watched him leave, Sam's eyes following Bobby desperately. He knew what was coming, and even though Weston could see his uncle's discomfort over the subject, he wanted some answers.

"Why are we here?"

It was a simple question, but Sam got a look on his face like he'd just been asked the meaning of life.

"Why are we here?' Sam repeated, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Yep, why are we here."

"Why are we here – "

"Sam, are you serious?" Weston rebuked in exasperation.

His uncle let out a deep sigh, finally giving up. "Fine, I'll tell you. God, are you a pain in the ass."

"So I've been told," Weston said, shifting in his seat so he could lean forward. "Now, come on."

"Bobby called last night to say that he knew where Meg – where a demon is."

Weston's eye brows drew together in confusion. "We're here because of a demon? What's so important about it?"

Sam massaged his temples. "She knows things, and Bobby said he had a ritual we could use to draw her to us – "

"Wait, you're going to use a ritual to draw the demon to you?" Weston spoke in utter disbelief. His uncle was weird, but not crazy! "Tell me she knows some pretty good shit, Sam, or else I'm going to have to check on getting you on some meds."

"She … "Sam stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again, "She knows about – about my brother, about Dean."

Weston's throat made a 'squeak' noise. He didn't even notice it, though, his mind replaying what his uncle just said. _She knows about Dad? _

His voice came out like a little boy's when he asked, "What does this demon know about him?"

"We're not sure, that's why we're summoning her."

Weston stood up, voice steady again," I'm helping you."

Sam stood up also, so that his superior five inches showed. "No you're not." His words left no room for argument.

Pissed off was an understatement to how angry Weston felt when he realized this. He muttered 'whatever' and brushed passed his uncle. He hadn't changed out of his clothes before falling asleep last night, or this morning depending on how you looked at it, so he stormed out of the house.

_Screw him, _Weston thought as he searched for the quickest way out of the junkyard. He started walking down the road they had come in through, set on walking to the nearest town and taking the bus back home. Bare feet be damned, he was determined.

But by the time he had made his way into the small town, Weston had cooled off.

_I can't leave Sam._

He let out a defeated sigh and sat down on a bench. He didn't have any money on him, so he couldn't use a pay phone to call Sam, so he was stuck in town until either Sam came out looking for him or he decided to walk back. Looking around for something to do while his feet rested, Weston spotted a newspaper from the day before.

Picking it up, he saw with slight interest that the newspaper was actually from Wyoming. _How'd it get here? _Despite that, it would be a good way to pass the time.

Weston's eyes narrowed when he read the front page. _"Long Time Casper Drug Dealer Suspect in Murders"_ Skimming through the article, it talked about how some of the murders the man, Clarence Williams, was suspected to be involved in dated back as far as six years. There was a picture of Williams on the inside page, and just the silhouette of his head triggered Weston's memory of the dealer his mom used to go to.

_I only saw him two times, but I'll be damned if that isn't him._ The gears in Weston's mind started to turn. Casper was about eight hours from here … If he could get his hands on this guy and find out if he was the one in charge of his mother's murder –

"Hey, need a ride kid?"

Weston jumped at the honking of the Impala's horn in front of him. Sam was leaning out the window, an apologetic smile on his face. Weston got up and slid into the passenger side seat. Bon Jovi was playing on the radio, one of Weston's favorite bands, and one of Sam's least favorite. This proved he was trying to make up for the disappointment.

"You want to stop and pick up Mr. Chicken or something?" Sam asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"Sure," Weston said distractedly, already planning out his route to Casper.

* * *

**a/n: **I wrote this chapter under the stress of a sick great-grandmother and a ton of writing homework. So it might not be my best, but I'm happy with it.

Also, I'd like to give a little shout out to all who have read and reviewed so far; you help to keep my writing!

Until next week.


	4. Chapter 4

Damage Inc.

Chapter Four

* * *

**Disclaimer_;_** I own nothing except Weston Smith.

* * *

Weston had the curtains drawn back so he could watch Sam and Bobby pull away. He waved back when Sam leaned out the passenger side window and gave a flick of his hand in farewell, and then left his post at the window to his room.

They were off to Oregon, where this demon was supposed to be, and Weston was ordered to sit tight for a day or two. Sam warned him it could be a little longer then that, and Weston was hoping so. He was leaving tonight for Casper as soon as he finished packing his bags and would get there by bus at two or so in the morning. From there he'd rent a motel room, with a fake ID he'd lifted from his uncle, then begin his hunt for the drug dealer.

_Willie, I think Mom called him. _Weston wasn't too sure on all of the details yet, but he knew where to start looking. His mom had always hung out at a bar, Iggy's, and that was where she hooked up with her suppliers.

"God, I feel like an actor from some old movie," Weston said to himself, slinging his duffel over his shoulder while heading to the kitchen where his Desert Eagle was.

He picked the weapon up and was careful to hide it so he wouldn't be caught with it. _That's the last thing I'd need, the cops taking me to the station because I tried to board a bus with a loaded weapon. _Now that he thought of it, this whole scheme was the last thing he needed. Why did he even need to get revenge for the woman who never even took care of him? Who never even loved him?

Weston leaned his forehead against the door. _This is stupid, why the hell do I even care? _Maybe because he didn't want what happened to him to happen to some other kid? No, it was because he was selfish and wanted to blame all of his problems on anyone other then himself. _So, what, I should just kill myself and that would get rid of it all? _No, that was an even worse plan.

He let out a growl. His mind was a jumbled mess and he couldn't figure out what to do! Making up his mind that he needed to clear his head, Weston threw his duffel onto the floor and stepped outside into the cooling night air. Weston thought about hot wiring one of the running cars in Bobby's salvage yard, but instead started walking on the same path he'd taken earlier that day. Walking was more calming.

It was so calming, Weston didn't realize he'd walked half way to town until a car's horn honked behind him and drew him out of his oblivious state. Weston turned to see who it was, but the headlights of the car blinded him. _Shit._ Weston knew Sam and Bobby were gone, so whoever was stopped behind him couldn't be good news.

Feeling the cold metal of his Desert Eagle pressed against the small of his back, Weston slowly moved his right hand to where the weapon was tucked in his waist band. The passenger side of the car opened, and a man that seemed to be even bigger then Sam got out. _Double shit._ Just from one glance, Weston knew he couldn't take this guy in a fair fight if he needed to, not to mention there had to be a second person in the car who was driving.

The man started walking towards him, and Weston unconsciously took a step back.

"What do you want?"

A woman exited from the driver's side. She was pretty with shoulder length blond hair and a petite frame, but Weston didn't have long to admire her before her once sky blue eyes flicked a hellish black. The man's eyes did the same, and his tight lipped expression turned into a smile.

"Howdy, Weston," The woman said, also smiling. "We just want to have a little chat."

Weston whipped out his weapon and aimed at the woman – the demon. He tried to hold his arms steady, but his hands refused to stop shaking, and it didn't help the big guy continued to get closer to him. His hands and eyes swiveled between the two, and he wasn't sure which one he should take out first.

"I know what you are, get away!"

The female demon put her hands on her hips. "Oh, you do, now?"

"You're demons!" Weston spat.

"Then if you know we're demons, why are you aiming that gun at us? It's useless."

Weston could have kicked himself. Of course the weapon was useless; he'd loaded it with regular bullets, meant to take out a stupid drug dealer. _Damn, I'm an idiot! _But he couldn't let her know that, so he tried to bluff his way out of the dilemma.

"Because, it's loaded with special bullets," he said, knowing the words sounded stupid the moment they left his mouth.

"Special bullets, eh?" Her grin widened, and then she spread her arms out wide. "Then why don't you try shooting me?"

Weston considered shooting her, just for the satisfaction of putting some led into her, but it wasn't a good move, and he knew it. He tried changing the subject. "What do you want?"

"Like I said, we just want to talk to you," the demon said, and Weston was so distracted by her he didn't notice the male demon had gotten behind him. "And maybe cut out a few of your insides."

Weston didn't have time to react before the demon behind him knocked the weapon out of his hands, and then nailed him n the back of the head. Weston fell onto the ground in a slump, body limp and unconscious.

-SN-

Sam glanced anxiously at his cell phone, then back at the road. With Bobby sleeping in the seat beside him, Sam had thought now would be a good time to call and check up on his nephew, but so far no one had answered Bobby's home phone. _He wouldn't have just left, would he?_ Sam was really regretting being a cheapskate and not getting Weston a cell phone.

He took a deep breath; he didn't need to freak out. Weston could have just gone to bed already. _Yeah, a sixteen year old left by himself with at least ten running cars going to bed early?_ He was Dean's son, so Sam couldn't put going out on a joy ride passed Weston. Although the kid was pretty responsible, would he really do that?

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, and tried to draw his attention to something other then his nephew. Spotting a sign, Sam discovered they were about an hour out from Eugene, their destination point. His mind wandered to the memories of the last time he'd had an encounter with a demon; or, more like twenty demons. That had been back during the war. _The war. _Sam was a veteran of the war between hunters and demons, one of the lucky few who made it through.

_That was a hell of a time. _Those times that ended four years ago always haunted him. The days when Sam couldn't be sure who was possessed and who wasn't. _Maybe that's why I accepted this break so easily._ Sam had been worn out from years of fighting, and had begun to understand what Dean had meant before he died when he said he was _tired_. Sam probably would have fallen to pieces if it wasn't for his vacation time.

Sam was shaken out of his reservoir of memories as his cell phone started to ring. He hurried to answer it, not bothering to read who the caller was.

"Weston?"

The voice on the other end laughed, and Sam's heart froze as he heard it. "No, Sammy, guess again."

"You bitch, how'd you get my number?" Sam demanded, pulling the Impala over to the shoulder of the highway.

"Now, now, that's not a very nice way to greet an old friend, is it? See, I asked a little birdy, and wouldn't you know, he even dialed the number for me. Good kid you raised, Sam. Smart."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. "Meg, you better not have – "

"Oh, don't worry, he's okay. I'll even let you talk to him," Meg said sweetly, then some muffled voices sounded and Sam thought he heard the scraping of a chair.

"S-Sam?"

"Weston!" Sam was so relieved to hear his nephew's voice he didn't bother to keep his volume down, and Bobby started to stir beside him. "Weston, are you okay, where are you?"

"Sam, don't – "There was some more muffled noises, and Weston's breathing turned loud and ragged. "Oh, shit, Sam. Shit, shit, shit … "

"Weston, calm down!" Sam ordered, and now Bobby's full attention was on the conversation he was having. "Where are you?"

Weston's words sounded forced as he spoke in a high, panicked voice. "Warehouse in Aber – Aberdeen with white stallions. Don't shoot – "

Weston was cut off, and Meg came over the line again. "See you in three hours, Sammy." The call was ended.

Sam threw his cell phone down and then pounded a fist against the steering wheel. "Damnit!"

"What was that?" Bobby asked, eyes wide in shock at Sam's reaction.

"It was Meg, Bobby! She has Weston in Aberdeen."

Bobby stayed silent, knowing nothing he could say would ease the anger, guilt and worry Sam was feeling. Sam tore down the road to find the nearest turn around, jerking the Impala carelessly as he pressed down on the pedal.

-SN-

No matter how hard he tried, Weston couldn't break the bonds that held him tight against the rough wall of the attic room he was in. Of course, it would have helped if they were visible. But he wasn't complaining, because at least the guy demon didn't have his arm wrenched behind his back any more. If it hadn't been for that, Weston could have warned Sam better – hell, he wouldn't have dialed his number in the first place if it hadn't been for the pain shooting through his body. That was all done though, so Weston needed to move on and work on getting himself out of this warehouse before Sam shot up the innocent people down stairs.

_Would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn't have this nasty rag in my mouth. _Weston fought against the smelly material, but it was tied too tightly. This was just great.

Meg stood across the room, leaned against the foggy window and staring out onto the road. She was waiting for the first signs of Sam. Weston knew his uncle wouldn't be stupid enough to park right outside the warehouse, but the demon seemed to believe he was. _Bitch, _Weston thought bitterly.

Seeming to hear his thought, the blond spun around, and without so much as a flick of the wrist, tightened the force holding Weston against the wall. He struggled to get loose, but his already weakened body didn't stand a chance against the supernatural power.

"You know, I almost feel sorry for you," Meg said, her high heels clicking against the dusty floor as she walked over to Weston," You don't even know what your father and uncle have done, why we're going to kill you nice and slow as soon as we have a full audience."

Weston thought for a second she was crazy, saying 'we', but then he remembered the shadow in the corner of the room was another demon. No doubt Meg was crazy, anyway, but an eternity in hell probably did that to a person. _Person. God, she was a human once. _It disgusted Weston to think a human could turn into something like Meg.

"But then, you don't know much about your family, do you?" By now Meg was in Weston's face, smiling wickedly at him even as her eyes filled with hatred. "How your Daddy's in hell with your grandpa. I bet Sammy didn't tell you he was supposed to be the ruler of the pit, either."

_What? _Weston narrowed his eyes at the demon. He didn't know what to be more concerned about, his dad and grandfather being in hell, or his uncle supposedly being the ruler of hell. What the Demon was saying was true, though, Weston didn't know anything about his family's history, at least the Winchester side.

"Yep, Sam and his powers. Too bad he stopped using them after the war, all of us in hell loved to watch the show, especially Dean and John. The way they'd squirm as Sam wiped out dozens of humans with a snap of the fingers, it was great." Meg watched as Weston's eyes widened in shock. "What, Uncle Sam didn't share that information with you? No, of course not, he wanted you to think he was normal. Just like with Jess. Well, I guess he gets to watch you die like Jess, too."

Weston glared at Meg, trying to ignore what she was saying. _It can't be true!_ She placed a hand on his cheek, and it made Weston fight even harder to get free.

"Oh, this must be tearing Dean up to watch," She said, before taking her hand away and taking a step back.

The second demon came to the center of the room, motioning towards the back window. Meg turned to Weston and gave him a wink.

Weston was shaking with anger and a whole other mix of emotions, and he knew if he wasn't restrained he would have killed the bitch already. But then he heard a loud _BANG_ echo from downstairs, and fear took over his mind. If that was a gun shot, Sam could've just killed someone – or someone could've just killed Sam.

_Sam, if you die on me now, I'll never forgive you!_

-SN-

Creeping along silently in the shadows of the darkened warehouses, Sam used hand signals to communicate with Bobby. Using two fingers and motioning sharply to the right, he and Bobby readied to clear anyone on the first floor of the White Stallion Packing Inc. and find Weston as soon as possible. Sam paused when he spotted movement through one of the tinted window panes. The safety went off of his Colt, and he waited to see who was inside. It was probably a demon, but Weston had been trying to warn Sam about something, so he wasn't going to just charge in half-cocked and start shooting people.

_That's what Dad would have done, _Sam thought, almost bitterly, but pushed the memory of John Winchester to the back of his mind. _God, Sam, focus, would ya'?_

Bobby sidled up next to Sam. "I'll distract 'em," he whispered, barely audible.

Sam studied the aging hunter, wondering if Bobby would be able to hold up against a group of demons. The fierce look in Bobby's eyes offset any of his fears, though, and Sam nodded his head in understanding. The older man took off in the direction of the main door to the warehouse, and it wasn't long before Sam heard the distinct report of a gunshot and shouting. Praying to himself Bobby wasn't hurt, Sam slipped into the warehouse through a side entrance, careful to stay silent and hidden.

Stepping gingerly over potential creaky floor boards, Sam kept his .45 at the ready. If he wasn't forcing himself to stay relaxed in on the look out, Sam was sure his knuckles would be white from gripping the pistol tightly. His mind kept locking onto the memories he had with his brother's son, and how he would never forgive himself if something happened to Weston.

_I almost screwed up once with him, it's not happening again._

Sam had just finished that thought when the clicking of someone's shoes brought his attention towards the end of the hall he was crouched in. A moment after picking up on the noise, a woman came into eye sight with a rather large guy behind her.

"Well, if it isn't little Sammy? "

Sam let out a snarl, and going against his better judgment, jumped at Meg with his arm extended, fully ready to whip her across the face with his pistol. His arm suddenly buckled under immense pressure, and Sam found himself face to face with Meg's body guard, who looked like he was ready to kick some ass.

Despite his struggles, the demon was able to unarm Sam and immobilize him enough to drag him up a flight of stairs and into a dusty room. Meg followed behind them, a smug grin playing at her lips.

Sam sent a wrathful look her way, and spat out," Bitch."

Meg just laughed. "Ah, you Winchester's never change."

Sam opened his mouth to shoot a nasty remark back, but chocked on his words when he saw Weston pinned against the wall in the room he'd just entered.

"Weston!"

His nephew looked so helpless. Sam cursed himself for being thoughtless and getting caught by the demons, because if he failed – Sam couldn't even think about that.

Weston made an attempt to talk to Sam, but the gag made the words muffled. Sam could tell from the look in his eyes he was relieved to see him, though. _Guess we were both worried about each other._

"Now that we're all together again, why don't we get this party started?" Meg said, a chair appearing in the middle of the floor that she motioned the male demon to put Sam on.

After being tied own, Sam's fighting useless against the huge demon's strength, Meg positioned herself in between the nephew and uncle.

"What do you want with us?" Sam demanded, eyes narrowed dangerously.

Meg cocked her head to the side. "What do I want with you?" She came so close to Sam that her breath whistled in his ear. "I want to make you suffer, all of you."

"All of us?"

"You, your brother, and the kid," She said then backed off Sam. She turned to Weston and with the grin on her face again, said," Make Daddy proud." With that, she raised her open hand, and then closed it slowly.

Weston started to choke, and his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. Sam watched with utter horror, and he worked even harder on the confining ropes.

"Stop it! Stop!" Sam shouted, but his protests fell on deaf ears.

Meg's face twisted with wickedness, and her hand was about to close all the way when Weston could suddenly breath again. She looked at her hand in confusion, then the Weston.

"What's going on?" She questioned frantically.

Meg turned to the other demon, only to find him sprawled on the floor, dead. Her eyes widened as she noticed the figure standing in the door way.

"No, no, how could you – It's impossible!"

Sam craned his neck to see what Meg was seeing. A single tear that had worked its way into his eye fell, tracing a path down his cheek. The man that stepped out of the shadows was the last person on earth Sam had expected.

"Dean?"

His voice was small, but the man managed to hear him and gave a small smile in return.

"Hey, Sammy."

* * *

**a/n: **You know, writing this, I hated it, but now, I'm pretty happy with it. So, I don't know, drop a review and let me know what you thought of it?


	5. Chapter 5

Damage Inc.

Chapter Five

* * *

**Disclaimer_;_** I own nothing except Weston Smith.

* * *

"Hey Sammy."

Despite the blood trickling from his mouth, Weston recognized the man in the doorway as his father. He had to be, just from the look on Sam's face.His uncle's eyes were wide and his mouth hung open in disbelief, like he was seeing a ghost. _But Sam said – No, it can't be Dad._ Weston wished he could take the rag from his mouth, to ask what was going on. His prayers seemed to be answered when all the force holding him against the wall was taken away, and he fell in a heap onto the rough wood flooring, except the initial impact took away the strength he had to pull the rag away.

"Dean Winchester, back again," Meg growled," Getting to be a bad habit."

Weston watched as the look-a-like stepped forward, meeting Meg with a steady gaze. Just as the demon jumped at him, he started chanting something in a language that had to be even older than the Latin Weston was learning, because he didn't recognize a single word. It had an effect on Meg though; she stopped dead in her tracks and started to shake violently.

"No, no!" Meg screamed at the top of her lungs.

The man stopped his chant only for a moment to say," Say hi to everyone back in the pit for me."

Then, in a flash of red, the angry black smoke of Meg's demonic soul dispersed. _Hopefully back to hell._ Weston tried to sit up from his uncomfortable position, but found he was unable to against the searing pain shooting from his chest. _Shit, have to get rid of the rag. _Weston struggled to get rid of the gag, before the wave of nausea over came him and he emptied what felt like all of his insides on the floor.

A distant voice called out, "Are you okay, Weston?" But he couldn't quite place it, everything was becoming too blurred.

In a moment, the edges of his vision started to darken, and Weston felt himself slipping away. Unconsciousness taking over, Weston didn't see Bobby enter the room just as the man who'd saved his life fell to the floor also.

-SN-

"What in the hell – "Bobby began when he saw the motionless figures on the ground that used to be occupied by demons, and then stopped when he saw Dean finishing tearing away the rope strapping Sam to an old wooden chair. "Dean?"

Sam was relieved to hear Bobby say his brother's name, because that meant Sam wasn't crazy. His brother really was there, some how back from hell in time to save Sam and Weston. As soon as he was free, Sam turned to his brother. The moment his eyes locked on Dean's green ones, he knew something wasn't right. And that's when Dean suddenly swayed on his feet, his knees buckling beneath him, before crashing to the ground.

"Dean!" Sam and Bobby called at the same time.

They rushed over to the hunter's side, where Dean had blacked out for a second. When he came back to, he shot his brother a small smile.

"Dean – "

"Sam, go check on the kid," Dean interrupted, motioning with his head towards Weston.

Sam obeyed right away, worried over his nephew just as much as he was worried over his brother. Stepping around the bile, Sam kneeled down to scoop Weston into his arms and pull him gently into a sitting position.

"Hey Weston, you in there?" Sam asked, tapping lightly at Weston's cheek.

The teenager slowly gained consciousness, but was still in a daze. "Sam, that you?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"You didn't shoot anyone downstairs, right?"

Sam turned his head towards Bobby, who had heard the question and shook his head no. "Yeah, Weston, everyone who was downstairs is safe."

"Good," Weston said, then grimaced. "What did that bitch do to me?"

"I'm not sure." Sam leaned back so he could look his nephew over for damage. "Don't worry; I'll take you to the ER in a second. Think you can make it to the car?"

Weston slowly nodded, and Sam hooked his arm underneath Weston's to help him stand up. Most of his weight was on Sam, _Not a good sign. _Bobby was already waiting at the door with one of Dean's arms slung around his shoulders also.

"How's it going over there?" Sam asked, also scanning his brother for external injuries.

Dean just gave an apologetic smile. "It's going. Sorry to worry you."

Sam shook his head dismissively while guiding Weston out the door and towards the stairs. He stopped before the stairs when he didn't hear any foot steps following him.

"Bobby, Dean?"

"What are we going to do about the bodies?" Bobby asked, staring back into the room with a slightly haunted expression.

"Don't worry, they'll wake up and leave on their own," Dean said, then nodded his head in the direction of the stairway," We'd better get going before they do."

Bobby smiled in relief and started leading Dean away. Dealing with dead bodies used to be so natural, and watching how Bobby acted, Sam was glad he'd kept Weston away from that for as long as he could. But now, something must've been starting again, and that meant Weston would have to be exposed to the full force of the supernatural. _I hope he's ready._ Regardless of if he was prepared or not, Sam's first concern needed to be getting his nephew to the hospital.

It was nearly a half hour later before the four were in the Impala and headed towards Aberdeen Memorial Hospital. Sam was driving with white knuckles as he glanced through the rearview mirror at Dean and Weston, who were scooted as far away from each other as possible in their damaged states. Weston still had some blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were beginning to droop, but other then that he was looking okay. Dean – well, Sam wasn't really sure how Dean was doing or even how Dean was alive. There was no time to ask questions though, Sam had a mission, and it came before personal problems.

"Turn left," Bobby instructed when Sam almost missed the hospital.

The Impala's tires screeched as Sam whipped the steering wheel to the side to make it into the hospital's driveway. Dean frowned in the back seat, and Sam could tell he was silently wishing for Sam to take it easy on his baby.

_There are more important things then a car, Dean._

Sam parked, before rushing to help Weston get out of the car, Bobby doing the same for Dean. Father and son both tried to shrug off the help, but neither was in much position to argue. Sam couldn't decide if he should be happy or worried over this. _They're acting normal – But is it really normal? Dean's supposed to be in hell!_

A groan from Weston when he was moved too quickly brought the hunter back to reality.

The small group dragged and limped into the ER, where Weston and Dean were deposited onto a hard backed couch with Bobby watching over them while Sam went to the front desk. Sam had a goal set for himself; get Dean and Weston checked out ASAP, but that goal was crushed when he saw the sneer "Bertha,' the front desk woman, seemed to have stitched on her face.

_Shit …_

Ten agonizing minutes later, and Sam went back to join his small family with a scowl. They where called back soon after, since the hospital put those who had passed out on the top of their 'to do' list. Bobby went with Dean and his nurse into one small room where Dean would be checked over, while Sam hobbled along with Weston and his nurse into a separate room.

"You're going to need to put on this gown," The nurse ordered softly as she handed over the obligatory paste green, paper like clothing. 'Everything goes off except your undergarments."

Weston reached for it with an unstable hand before retreating behind a curtain that divided the room in half. Sam listened for any signs of a struggle that the teenager would need Sam's help with, but everything seemed to be pretty normal.

The nurse, 'Kristy,' smiled kindly towards Sam. "Your son is a strong willed one?"

By the way she spoke and acted, Sam could swear the woman was some seventy year old grandmother who would spoil her grandchildren to death with candy and love. But the youthfulness to Kristy spoke otherwise; she had to be less than thirty.

"He's my nephew," Sam corrected while returning Kristy's smile with a small one of his own," And yes, Weston's very independent."

Kristy apologized for her mistake and then prepared a needle full of pain meds for Weston when he got finished. When Sam's nephew reemerged from behind the curtain divider, Kristy told him to turn around so she could deliver the shot.

Weston's eyes widened. "Whoa, you aren't going to – No way are you sticking anything in my ass!"

Sam thought he might have to step in when Weston began to protest, but Kristy proved to be experienced with this kind of situation. She talked to Weston until he was calm enough to let her lift the bottom of his gown up and give him the shot. She then told him to go lie down in the hospital bed until they were able to take him to get x-rays.

Kristy left shortly after that, leaving Sam and Weston in an awkward silence.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Who was that guy in the car?"

Sam swallowed back his emotions. "He's your fa – "

"Don't you say he's my father," Weston interrupted suddenly, voice wavering and eyes taking on a pink hue at the rims. "Don't you say he's my father, because Dean is dead and gone and there's no way he could just come back."

Sam cringed at Weston's words, his own words, full of no hope and misery. He'd caused his nephew to feel like this.

"_Sam?"_

Sam gazed through his dark bangs that hung over his eyes at his nephew, whom he was gradually getting used to after four months of traveling together. He straightened himself from where he'd been leaning underneath the Impala's hood to give Weston his full attention.

"Hm?"

"I wanted to ask you … "Weston's voice trailed off.

Sam thought nothing of it, as the kid seemed to do that a lot. Weston didn't like to speak his thoughts directly, and Sam always had to guess what words finished Weston's sentence.

"Ask me what?"

Weston shifted from left foot to right foot, worrying at his bottom lip until he finally got the courage to speak again. "Where's my … My dad?"

At the time, Sam had been taken completely off guard by the question; like the boy should no that the subject of Sam's brother was off limits. Of course, looking back now, Sam knew it was bound to happen. Actually, he was surprised Weston hadn't asked sooner.

"Why?" Sam demanded, tone dangerously low.

"I was just wondering."

Sam positioned himself inches from Weston's face. "He's dead." The impact of those words showed on the young teen's face, but for some reason that wasn't enough for Sam. He wanted to make sure the subject never came up again, and a little bit of shock wasn't going to do that. "I watched him die three years ago while a horrible creature ripped him apart."

Weston's mouth was open with unspoken words. His face looked utterly devastated, and Sam recognized it as an expression he'd seen on Dean. Sam turned away from his nephew so Weston couldn't see his face as he began to break.

"Go back inside."

"But … "

"Look, the man's dead and gone!" Sam snapped, doing his best John Winchester impression without even trying. "Now go inside like I told you."

As soon as Weston was out of sight, tears were streaking down Sam's face. Pride kept him from making a sound as he grieved. He thought of what his brother would have done if he'd just seen the way Sam had acted.

"_I'm sorry."_

"I'm sorry," Sam found himself repeating, body and heart heavy with guilt from the memory.

Weston looked up at Sam in confusion. "Why?"

Sam forced himself not to avert his eyes away from his nephew. "This is my fault, the way you're feeling."

"Damnit Sam, why can't you just let me be angry at you?" Weston said, and Sam realized he must have looked exactly the way he felt.

"You have a right to be angry at me, Weston. God knows I haven't been trying hard enough to raise you. Hell, I've caused half the problems for you, always working and never being there when you needed me." Sam sank down into a chair," I'm no better then my own father …. "

Weston didn't say anything, his green eyes looking at Sam but not really seeing him. Sam couldn't guess where his nephew's mind was, but whatever it was couldn't be good. Sam watched as Weston's barricades started to go up, starting with his facial expression. Suddenly there was no emotion present, just a blank look, with maybe a little bit of … distrust?

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted as Kristy came into the room. "Okay, Weston, I'm going to take you to x-ray now. Sam, you're welcome to follow and sit outside of the room."

"Thanks," Sam said softly, mind still distracted.

"C'mon honey," Kristy said as she wheeled Weston away on the hospital bed.

As they went down the hallway and passed several different rooms, Sam caught sight of Dean and Bobby in one. The were having what appeared to be a heated discussion. Flicking his eyes to Weston, then back to the room, Sam decided his duty was with his nephew, and continued passed the room. He'd just have to talk to the two of them later.

Two hours later, and Sam was finally allowed to take Weston home. After various x-rays and tests, it had been decided that nothing was wrong with the youngest Winchester. Now, as for the eldest Winchester, Bobby had told Sam that Dean had to stay for a while longer to have some tests done on his heart. Apparently, something was wrong with it.

Sam didn't feel right as he drove away from the hospital, with Weston in the passenger seat, to search for a motel. He should stay with Dean, but that would mean sending Weston with Bobby, and his nephew wasn't comfortable with the older man yet. Now, Sam knew what his father would say, "To hell with it, tell the kid to suck it up if you trust Bobby." But Sam wasn't going to do that. He'd messed up enough for one night.

"Hey Sam, can we put in some Bon Jovi?" Weston asked in an uncharacteristically loud and obnoxious voice.

"Yeah, sure," Sam said, eyeing his nephew knowingly. "Pain meds are working, huh?"

"Man, do I ever feel great!" Weston exclaimed as he popped in a tape, lopsided grin on his face. "That demon chick must not of hurt me after all!"

"You won't be saying that in the morning. "

Weston laughed the warning off before turning 'Living on a Prayer' to full volume. Sam watched his nephew sing along with a sad smile; Weston never opened up like this normally.

It took ten minutes to find a motel. Sam immediately dropped onto the queen sized bed closest to the door as soon as he and Weston got into the door. He was worn out from the day's events, not to mention the lack of sleep he'd had with no coffee. His mind wasn't even up for going over what all had happened; it was craving rest so bad.

"Weston, lay down," Sam commanded after his nephew began pacing the confines of the room.

His nephew looked desperately at him. "I can't, I'm not tired!"

"Just lie down on the bed and shut your eyes, you'll fall asleep."

"I'll try … "

And just like that, Weston was out. Sam forced himself out of bed so he could cover the teenager with a blanket and pull his old converse sneakers off. Then he settled back onto his bed and let the hum of passing cars lull him to sleep.

-SN-

Weston woke up with the feeling of just getting over the flu, where every bone and muscle in his body ached and he had a killer throbbing pain in his temples. Moving slowly, Weston turned to find his uncle in the bed over from his.

_Where am I?_

Taking in his surroundings, Weston realized that all that had gone on the day before wasn't just a bad dream. So that meant he had a lot of questions to be answered.

* * *

**a/n: **Is anyone bothered by the length of the chapters? Let me know if you'd enjoy reading DI more if the chapters were longer/shorter, would ya' please?

Thank you to all of my readers and reviewers!


	6. Chapter 6

Damage Inc.

Chapter Six

* * *

**Disclaimer_;_** I own nothing except Weston Smith.

* * *

Eyes directed outside the car, neither nephew nor uncle spoke. Weston figured Sam was thinking about the meeting that was about to happen between him and his brother, not the fact that he could possibly be a psycho killer man who had unnatural powers. _This is Sam, he couldn't kill a fly._ _Wait, that's not true. _Weston had once seen Sam threaten to kill some guy on the highway who was driving like an idiot, but did road rage count against him?

"Do you want to stop for something to eat or wait until we get to the hospital?"

Weston shrugged in response. He knew if he tried to speak, he'd explode and start asking Sam questions he didn't really want answers to. Unfortunately, his uncle wasn't sensing this.

"Yes or no?" Sam asked snappishly.

"Yes," Weston answered, just as aggravated. "Jesus, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

"Look, I'm sorry Weston, I'm just anxious," Sam explained in a softer tone.

And before Weston could stop himself, his mouth started forming the words he'd been fighting back. "Why are you so anxious, maybe because Dean saw you do something that you would be ashamed of?"

Sam seemed stunned at first, and then he jerked the Impala to the side of the road and cut the engine. He positioned himself to face Weston, a serious expression on his face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe while he was in hell, he saw you … "Weston couldn't look his uncle in the eye as he said the last part," He saw you kill people."

"Weston, I don't know where this is coming from, but I never – "

"Meg said you killed people with your mind, Sam!" Weston's bottom lip quivered as he spoke. "And hell, I don't know anything about you, so maybe … maybe you did."

Sam took a deep breath, and for a second Weston was afraid maybe he was going to use his powers on him. But as soon as his uncle started to speak, Weston knew he was wrong, and that the demon was wrong.

"Meg lied, demons lie, but there is some truth to her words. I do – I used to have special abilities that allowed me to do things with my mind." Sam gave Weston a reassuring smile. "I never killed a human being though, you can be sure of that."

No matter how lame it looked or how childish it was, Weston couldn't help but reach over and give his uncle a hug. He was so relieved that what Meg had said wasn't true, at least mostly, that he could almost physically feel the weight being lifted from his shoulders. That was one of the most important questions on his list that he could mark off as answered, and luckily it was at least a half way good answer he'd received.

As Weston pulled back, he couldn't help but ask," What kind of powers did you have?" It felt weird to be asking his uncle that, like Sam was some kind of super hero.

"I'll tell you later," Sam said, looking a little uncomfortable," For now we need to get to the hospital."

_And number two most important question must be faced now. _Weston slumped in his seat as Sam started the Impala and got back onto the road. As if hospitals weren't bad enough to go to, Weston now had the fear of facing his father, who was supposed to be dead. _As if I wasn't screwed up enough_.

Sam must have noticed his change in mood and figured out what it was about. "Look, Weston, I know this is going to be hard for you -"

"Understatement of the year," Weston grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest in a typical teenager pose.

"But if it makes you feel any better," Sam continued, ignoring Weston's comment," Whatever crazy explanation Dean has for his coming back, it'll most likely be our kind of crazy."

Weston had a feeling Sam was trying to convince himself the same thing. Irritation rising inside him, Weston bit off," Some how that doesn't make me feel any better, Sam."

Sam gave Weston a tight lipped expression, his nostrils flaring for a moment, before he turned back to the road. "Watch the attitude; I don't need it right now."

"Sorry," Weston mumbled, averting his eyes to the window to watch the passing city of Aberdeen.

Fifteen minutes later and they were at the hospital. Weston had to drag himself out of the car, dreading the 'reunion' that was coming. But he had to be strong for Sam; he looked worse off then him. Sam fidgeted with his cup of coffee, that he had insisted they stop and get before going upstairs, and was annoying the hell out of Weston. When his uncle started humming AC/DC, Weston finally had enough.

"Sam, are you sure you want to do this?"

"What?" Sam looked at his nephew with wide eyes, like he had no idea what he was talking about. "Of course I want to do this, why wouldn't I?"

The elevator made a 'ping' sound when they reached the third floor, where Dean was located now. Sam made no move to get out, and Weston inwardly let out a frustrated sigh. _My turn to take over as the adult._

"C'mon, Sam, it won't be that bad," Weston began," He's your brother, so it won't be that hard. Family sticks with family, y'know?" Truthfully, Weston had no idea what he should say and was just spewing random stuff that would hopefully inspire his uncle to take a step outside the elevator.

Sam shook his head. "No, I can't. What if – what if he made another … "

"Another what?" Weston prompted when Sam's voice trailed off.

"Another deal," Sam said quietly. "Weston, you should know this isn't the first time – the first time one of us has died and come back."

'What?" Weston was slack jawed with disbelief, and he moved his foot out of the way of the elevator door that was trying to shut.

Sam took a long gulp of his coffee like it was a bottle of alcohol. "I died about ten years ago. That's why … Why Dean was dead in the first place."

Weston waited impatiently for his uncle to gather himself and continue, as he was totally confused at the moment.

"When I died, Dean made a deal with a demon; his soul as payment to bring me back."

_And that was about the last thing I expected to hear. _Weston had studied some on deals with demons, but he'd never thought – God, his family just got weirder and weirder. "You guys most have been really close," He managed to get out eventually, at loss for better words as Sam stared at the door of the elevator.

"Yeah," Sam said softly, and then was interrupted by a nurse entering the elevator.

"Hello," She greeted cheerily, smiling at the two as she waited for the elevator to take her to the fifth floor.

Both Winchesters nodded back absently, and the nurse got the hint and stayed silent the rest o the time she had to wait until getting off. Weston waited until she was off and he'd pressed the button for floor three again before speaking.

"You think Dean made another one of these deals?"

Sam shrugged. "It's possible … "

Weston chewed on his bottom lip for a second. 'I don't think that's even possible, from what I've read anyway."

The elevator pinged to a stop at the third floor again. Weston shifted his gaze towards his uncle, waiting to see if he'd make the move off the elevator. To his pleasure, Sam stepped onto the white linoleum of the third floor. Weston followed right behind him.

"Okay, so room 136," Weston said, pointing down the hall way to their left.

Sam took a deep breath, and then started down the hall way. When they found room 136, both wavered outside a moment before going in. They found Bobby sitting dutifully on a chair beside the bed Dean was on, looking bored out of his mind, and in Weston's opinion completely wiped out. His eyes looked hollow underneath, and nothing like in the picture Weston had of him and his mother. He was unsure what to do, so he hung back while Sam went forward.

"Dean."

From where he stood only a couple of feet behind his uncle, Weston could barely hear Sam say Dean's name, but somehow his father heard. He hadn't seen them before, but now he turned to Sam and Weston with renewed energy.

"Sammy," he said, and Dean's look of boredom was replaced with pure affection. "They've got me hooked up to a bunch of shit, so I can't stand up, but – "

Sam didn't wait for Dean to finish before he bent over and gave his brother the biggest hug he could manage in such an awkward position. Weston watched as Bobby's eyes filled with tears and the elder and had to turn away to keep himself in check. Weston himself felt like he was an outsider intruding on his father and uncle's special moment. There was just something about the brothers that spoke of a bond that normal people couldn't achieve.

"You sure do look like shit," Sam chuckled as he detached from Dean, but still remained hovering over his bed. "What happened?"

"The ritual I used to bring this body back came with side effects, and apparently one of them is a weak heart," Dean said, but he couldn't stay focused as his eyes roamed the corner of the room Weston was trying to hide himself in. "I'll tell you more later."

Sam followed Dean's gaze and motioned for Weston to come closer. "Dean, this is your son, Weston. Weston, this is your dad, Dean."

Weston couldn't keep direct eye contact with the man in front of him who was staring at him with an unreadable expression. "Hey," He forced himself to say.

"Hey," Dean shot back in amusement, a smile lighting up his face.

Bobby and Sam shared a look, which Weston caught, and the teenager felt his heart rate spike. He could practically read the thought running through both of their minds, and it wasn't a good one. Turning desperate eyes on his uncle, he prayed Sam wasn't about to suggest what he thought he was going to.

"Sam, you mind coming with me to the cafeteria for a couple of minutes?" Bobby suggested, and Weston's hear immediately dropped into the pit of his stomach.

"Sure, Bobby.. We'll let you two talk," Sam said over his shoulder as he and Bobby left.

Weston watched their retreating backs. _Bastard, after I gave him a pep talk this is what he does to thank me! _He slowly turned his gaze back to his father, who was still watching him intently. Dean motioned for him to take a seat where Bobby had formerly been.

"Thanks," Weston said politely, though he didn't really mean it. He sat down and tried to think of something to talk about, but the only thing he could think to say was 'Why the hell are you alive?' or 'What right do you have to come and butt into my life?' Neither were good choices.

"Is Sam teaching you the family business?" Dean said, finally breaking the silence.

"Family business?"

"Y'know, hunting?"

Weston raised an eye brow." It's called 'the family business?'"

"Well, yeah, you're a third generation hunter of the Winchester family, it's pretty much our only job," Dean said, as if it were obvious.

"My grandparents hunted/" Weston asked, unconsciously leaning forward.

Dean was silent, and then said," Sam never told you? Damn kid … "He stopped talking, mind elsewhere.

Weston waited expectantly for nearly ten minutes before his father came back to the present. _Father? That's going to take some getting used to. Hope he doesn't want me to call him 'Dad.' _Weston remembered when the question had come about with his uncle if Weston was supposed to call him 'Uncle Sam' all the time, but luckily Sam had agreed with Weston it sounded ridiculous.

"Sam's and mine dad, your grandfather, was a hunter ever since mom was killed by a demon. We didn't know that at the time, but the whole demon shit is a story for another time. Anyway, my dad raised me and Sammy to be hunters since we were kids." Weston could tell by Dean's strained facial expression and voice that the memories he was dragging up were painful ones, and that he was keeping out a lot of information. "You should be proud, now you're carrying on the family business of killing the fuglies wherever they may be."

_Yeah, I feel like I've won the freakin' lottery. _Weston nodded his head along with what his dad said, hoping to placate him. For all intents and purposes, Weston tried to pay attention to Dean's comments on whatever was going on the television screen, but his mind kept on wandering to e fact that he was sitting next to his father. That he could actually have a conversation with the man if he wanted too! It was all to damn unreal, and Weston found himself wishing Sam would come back and save him.

As if reading his mind, Dean broke though his thoughts by saying," He's not coming back soon. Bobby's filling him in on the situation, and knowing geek boy, he's probably researching the ritual I did."

Weston felt guilty for being caught, but he tried to hide it by keeping his eyes trained on the television. "What did you do to come back, anyway?"

"I learned some new tricks while I was gone, and one of them was a ritual that could restore my body like new," Dean explained, like he knew the question was going to come sooner or later," Then I kinda made a deal with a friend to get my soul out of hell."

"A deal?" Weston repeated, afraid Sam's fears where coming true.

Dean sent him a weird look. "Not that kind of deal, kid. This time I dealt with someone from upstairs."

That statement helped to ease the knot in Weston's stomach, and he started to get more comfortable in his seat. "What kind of deal?"

"I – "Dean's face fell blank. "I don't know. I was just told I could come back and would be given my mission later."

_And you agreed?_ Was his dad stupid? Weston mulled over the conversation they'd just had, and determined that couldn't be it. Both Winchesters fell into a silent state, the tension that had filled the room slipping away as they listened to the steady breathing coming from each other. Weston was glad Dean was finished talking, because to tell the truth, between his revelations with Sam and finding out all of this stuff about his dad, he was wiped out. He needed to just sit and think for a little while.

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**a/n: **Its a bit short, but I'll have more up soon, so don't worry. Let me know what you think of the chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

Damage Inc.

Chapter Seven

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**Disclaimer_;_** I own nothing except Weston Smith.

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It was nearly an hour before Sam and Bobby found their way back to Dean's room. Sam's mind was working at top speed, trying to put together everything Bobby had told him about what his brother had done to come back from hell and what was going on with him now. He'd thought about getting his laptop out of the Impala, but figured it wasn't fair to leave Weston alone for so long. _Not alone,_ Sam corrected himself,_ just uncomfortable. _But just as he was thinking this, Sam stepped into Dean's room and found his nephew slumped in the chair beside the bed, showing little discomfort as he snored away.

"Kid crashed out a little while ago," Dean informed, eyes drifting from his son to Sam.

Sam couldn't help but smile when he saw the glow of warmth in Dean's eyes. He couldn't picture any better scene – him, Dean and Weston as a family, finally together. Sam knew Dean felt the same way, and that made it all the more enjoyable.

Sidestepping passed Sam; Bobby began to gather loose articles that had scattered around the room from the overnight stay. "We talked to your doctor on the way up; he said they'll be releasing you as soon as they decide a treatment plan."

It didn't surprise either hunter when Dean replied exasperatedly, "I don't need a treatment plan. I want to get the hell out of here."

"You do need a treatment plan, Dean," Sam said seriously," Congestive heart failure is nothing to mess around with."

"Freakin' ritual, screwing with my heart … "Dean grumbled to himself, but didn't argue any further.

_God, it's good to have you back Dean. _Sam pushed passed the intense urge he had to grab his brother in another hug. He didn't need to make the moment awkward. Instead he took a seat at the end of Dean's bed and waited until the doctor came.

Ten minutes passed before Doctor Giles entered the small room. He had a very busy, no nonsense air about him, and Sam was surprised Dean had even gotten this far with the guy.

"Mr. Winchester, I'd like to speak with you about treatments for your signs of congestive heart failure," Giles said formally, clipboard held firmly in his hands. "Would you prefer if everyone else left the room?"

"No," Dean answered quickly, eyes darting between the other three occupants of the room. Sam thought he looked slightly panicked, but Dean had himself back under control in seconds. "Whatever you tell me I'm just going to have to repeat to them anyways."

Giles nodded curtly. "Well then, I'll begin with medications."

Sam listened intently to the prescriptions Dean was going to need and the strict eating, drinking and exercising schedule he was going to need to stick to. Because Dean showed symptoms of systolic heart failure, the strain on his heart was a major issue. The muscles in Dean's heart didn't have enough strength to push out his blood fast enough if Dean did too much activity. This included very simple things at the moment, such as running into a warehouse and sending two S.O.B.'s back to hell, which was why Dean had fainted. His body had momentarily shut down from the stress.

Giles also mentioned Dean's intake of fluids needed to be watched, and that he needed to be weighed regularly. This was to make sure he had no sudden increases in weight from fluid back up because his heart was being over worked. Giles said it wasn't as big a worry as too much activity, but they had to take precautions. Sam was soaking all of it in, partly for concern of his brother's health, and partly because he just found it interesting.

"Here's your prescription," Giles said while handing a doctor's note to Dean," And as soon as you're dressed and ready to leave, just let a nurse know and you'll get signed out."

"Thanks doc," Dean said, genuinely appreciative.

Giles paused just outside the door. "Take care of yourself, alright kid?"

"Yes sir."

Dean waited until Giles was gone before grabbing his clothes and disappearing into the bathroom. Figuring it was time to wake him up, Sam bent over to gently shake Weston's shoulder. The teenager didn't stir at first, but after Sam shook his shoulder a second time, he jumped awake with a shocked expression. His breathing had picked up and his bright green eyes were wide, but he calmed down when he saw Sam.

"What did I miss?" Weston asked, letting out a shaky breath while running a hand through his hair.

"We're leaving," Sam said softly just as Dean came out of the bathroom.

Bobby, who had remained silent until then, said he'd head down to the car. Sam tossed him the keys before the elder hunter disappeared into the hospital hall way. When Dean began to slowly walk out of the room, Sam stayed close by him with Weston following him sleepily.

"Dude, stop hovering," Dean snapped after Sam nearly bumped into him when he stopped to let a doctor pass.

"Sorry," Sam said, backing off.

He was so happy to see his brother back; he just didn't want anything else to happen._ Chill Sam, everything will be okay. _But just as he was scolding himself for over reacting, an alarm clock went off in Sam's mind that reminded him of reality.

"Shit, we've got be back in Big Walnut by Monday afternoon," Sam informed his nephew.

Weston blinked, looking confused. "Why?"

"I have work, you have school." Sam was glad he'd taken care of everything the morning after they got to Bobby's, or else this would be an even more stressful situation. "And don't forget our meetings."

-SN-

Weston couldn't help the groan that escaped from his lips. He'd forgotten all about life back in Big Walnut and what was waiting for him. _I'm so screwed … _And on that note, he remembered he'd have to explain to everyone the father that had suddenly come into his life. _I'm double screwed … _

"Big Walnut?" Dean asked incredulously, attention never leaving the other two.

"The town we live in," Sam said, hazel gaze focusing on Dean. "Don't worry, it has three different bars."

"You really settled down, huh?"

The brothers shared a look, and Weston found himself wishing he knew what they were thinking. The three became distracted when they came to the Impala, and they had to do some shuffling to pick seats. In the end, Bobby was driving with Dean in shot gun, and Sam and Weston were in back.

On the drive back to Bobby's house, Sam slowly nodded off until his head finally came to rest against the window, his mouth slightly hanging open. Weston glanced over, and felt like he was catching a glimpse of what his uncle must have been like nearly twenty years ago, when Sam was a kid. Looking to the front seat, Weston couldn't help the smirk that twitched at the corner of his lips when he saw Dean was in almost the exact same position, just with a pair of sun glasses on. Just from what he'd seen of his uncle and father, Weston could only guess he was in for some entertainment.

After coaxing Bobby to turn off his country music and at least put on some classic rock, Weston relaxed for the rest of the drive. He was staring out the window, blankly watching the scenery while his mind bounced lazily from one thought to the other, when Bobby pulled into Singer Salvage Yard. Weston's father and uncle hadn't stirred yet, but when the Impala came to a stop, both came back to the living with a start.

"We're here already?" Sam questioned, hair sticking up at odd angles and eyes still droopy from sleep.

Weston smirked. "Ever aware," He commented sarcastically.

His uncle squinted at him in warning, but Dean chuckled to himself in the front seat. _Damn, that's so weird! _Weston had to get out of the Impala, frustration breaking into the peace that had settled in his mind. While trudging into the house, Weston felt a hand placed on his shoulder. He looked into knowing eyes when he turned his head, and he couldn't help but pause and listen to what Bobby had to say.

"Just give it some time," The elder man said, before patting Weston's shoulder and heading inside.

Weston tried to listen to Bobby's words, but it was hard. He was still thinking that way when Sunday rolled around and the Winchesters left Bobby's house and made the trip back to Big Walnut. There was only small talk between either Sam and Dean or Sam and Weston, which made for an awkward eight hours, but Weston just couldn't get back the same comfortable feeling he'd had when talking to his father in the hospital. _C'mon, you're going to have to suck it up and face the man eventually if you're going to live with him, _Weston thought, mentally giving himself a pep talk.

Dean let out a low whistle when they finally reached their destination. "Nice house, Sammy," He said, truly impressed.

"Better than the dumps we used to live in, but not great," Sam spoke modestly with a slight shrug.

"Dude, it has a porch and everything," Dean commented in awe as he slowly rose from the car.

_They must have lived in houses like mine. _Weston got out of the Impala also, but he didn't stop to talk about the house with his uncle and father, instead heading to the trunk to retrieve his bag. He had a key of his own to the house, so Weston didn't have to wait for Sam to unlock the front door for him. _This'll probably give them a chance to talk some more by themselves. _One thing Weston didn't want to do was ruin the brother's chance to hang out, and he was trying to give them as much time alone as possible.

Stepping over the threshold, Weston was met with the familiar scent of home. _Deodorant, pizza, and laundry detergent. _It wasn't a particularly good smell, but it wasn't bad either. It probably would have been better if it weren't for Weston's addition to the mixture, which was the spray deodorant he used that filled the house with its scent.

"It's good to be home," Weston said out loud, falling into the lazy chair by the door.

_And that's about the weirdest thing I've ever said. _Weston always had an attitude towards life that consisted of much pessimism when it came to material things; included in his list of material things was wherever he lived. A home was a home; as long as Weston had a roof over his head he was good. But the quant house in Big Walnut … It just felt like _home. _

Shaking his head clear of chick thoughts and deep meanings, Weston stood back up and drifted into his room to unpack his bag. _Wonder if I'm going to be booted from my room? Dean's not going to want to sleep on the couch all the time. _Maybe he could persuade Sam into letting him use the basement as a room … That would be awesome.

Weston left his room when he heard the front door shut, so he could make the offer and see how Sam reacted. His uncle was busy giving Dean a tour of the house though, so Weston hung back until the two settled down at the kitchen table. Sam noticed Weston hanging around the edges of the room and motioned for him to take a seat.

"You want to discuss sleeping arrangements, right?" Sam asked.

_How the hell does he always do that? _Weston nodded wordlessly, sitting down at the table and purposely leaving a seat in between him and his father. _Maybe it's the mind powers._

Sam looked concerned for a moment, but snapped back to normal after a second. "Dean's going to crash on the couch for now, "Sam paused to shoot his brother a glare with no real anger behind it," because he's stubborn and won't take my bed, but eventually things will have to change."

"I could move downstairs," Weston suggested, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.

"I don't know … "Sam eyed Weston questioningly," I'll have to think about it."

_Better than nothing._ Happy with the outcome of his idea, Weston moved to get up from his chair, but Sam gave him a look that told him better. Weston raised one eye brow back at his uncle, and the two shared a silent conversation that left Weston huffing inwardly as he was forced to make small talk with his father.

"So, me and Sam are going to your school tomorrow," Dean said, breaking the tension that had filled the room.

Weston couldn't help but turn to Sam at that news. "He's going too?"

"'He' just so happens to be your dad, so yes, he's going," Sam snapped, surprising Weston with his irritation.

Dean sighed. "Sammy, you don't have to jump down the kid's throat."

"I'm not jumping down his throat, Dean," Sam said in aggravation.

"It sure sounded to me like you were – "

Wanting to stop any further arguing, Weston stepped at of his comfort zone and asked his dad a question. "What are you going to say to my principal?"

Dean kept his green head lights on Sam, but said back," We haven't planned that out exactly. We'll work something out."

Weston still felt anxious that his uncle wasn't talking, so he directed his next inquiry to him. "Are you going back to work tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, the muscles in his jaw slowly starting to relax. "Dean's going too."

"I thought he wasn't able to lift anything?"

Dean smirked. "I'm going to do office work. Real fun stuff."

"It's better than no work," Sam said, a smiling starting to form on his lips too. But then he turned to Weston and the smile disappeared. "You have a meeting with your school counselor."

"Thanks for reminding me," Weston grumbled..

The next day after his final class let out, Weston drug his feet down the halls of his school until he reached a wooden door. It was decorated with pictures of happy animals and rainbows with the name plaque 'Mr. Camp, Guidance Counselor' squeezed into the middle. _One word dude, gay. _There were some chuckles from passing students as Weston stood outside the office, trying to work up the courage to knock.

Just as he was raising his hand, an amazingly clean and well starched man opened the door. It was Mr. Camp, dressed in the usual white dress shirt with a floral colored tie. "Mr. Winchester, I've been expecting you!"

Weston couldn't help but grimace, feeling like the man's eyes were wandering from Weston's face to the rest of him. "Mr. Camp," he forced out, nodding his head in greeting.

"Come in, come in," Mr. Camp said, briskly shutting the door to his office once Weston stepped inside. "So, Ms. M tells me you need to talk about some issues you're having?"

_Straight to the point, at least we don't have to beat around the bush. _Weston didn't verbally answer as he sat down in one of the brightly colored plush chairs Mr. Camp had next to his desk, but his shoulders slightly lifted and fell. Mr. Camp must have taken this for a full hearted yes, because he started going on and on about how tough being a teenager was, especially when a kid came from a broken family like his.

"So tell me, is it your absent father that bothers you the most?" Mr. Camp asked, scooting closer to Weston like he was about to tell him some kind of secret.

Weston glanced around the room, wondering if he was allowed to say what he was about to. "Actually, my dad's back."

Mr. Camp looked astonished, and then he placed one of his soft hands on Weston's hand. "You must be so mixed up! Are things awkward at home?"

_No man's hands should be so baby smooth. _Weston cringed away from the contact. "Yeah, I guess."

"How so?"

_How so? Let's see, my dad came back from the dead. How's that for making things awkward? _"Uh … I don't really know what to call him," Weston tried, hoping that would quench Camp's need for emo-ness.

Camp nodded in understanding. "I see. This problem occurs often, in the past it works out best when the child asks their father what he would like to be called. Have you ever thought of that?"

Weston shrugged. _I guess that's not that bad an idea. _But he wasn't telling Mr. Camp that, because who knows what kind of spiel that would set off. Unfortunately, Camp didn't need to be set off by Weston; he could get himself worked up and all emotional on his own. Weston had to hand Mr. Camp the box of tissues by the end of their session, and he beat it out of the office as quickly as he could.

_I don't think I'll live through another one of those sessions. _Weston felt like he needed a shower to cleanse himself of his meeting with the guidance counselor._ Wonder if Sam and Dean are doing any better …_

-SN-

_What a bitch. _Sam wanted to reach across the table and shake Ms. Martin until her head fell off; couldn't she see Weston was a good kid? The things she was accusing him of – Sam had never realized how protective he'd become of his nephew until now, when the blood inside him felt like it was boiling he was so angry. When he made a sideways glance at his brother, Dean didn't seem to be fairing so well himself either. His hands were balled into fists at his side and his eyes lacked any emotion, like he was trying to hide how pissed off he was.

"So you see, Mr. Winchester and Mr. Winchester, these are some very serious matters," Ms. Martin finished her tirade with a sugary sweet tone.

Sam cleared his throat, trying to find the appropriate words to say. "Ms. Martin … We're glad you're so concerned, but Weston is a good kid. I know in the past he was kicked out of one school, but that's all behind him now."

Ms. Martin struggled to answer, her bright red fish lips moving, but no sound coming from her mouth. She regained her composure after a moment, but now her brow was creased into a frown. "I'm sure he is, but perhaps the arrival of his father … "She let the words hang in the air, challenging the brothers to oppose her.

Sam abruptly stood up, no longer able to stand being in the presence of the principal. "We'll give what you've said some serious thought, but we've got to get going now."

"Give me a call any time," Ms. Martin said with a fake smile, "And nice to meet you Mr. Winchester."

Dean nodded absently towards the woman, but quickly left the room. Sam followed, feeling guilty that his nephew had to deal with this woman all the time. _I should've been more understanding. _He thought back to the way he'd snapped at Weston, and he felt like a horrible uncle.

Speaking of Weston, Sam looked around in search of his nephew, who was supposed to be waiting for a ride outside the school. It wasn't until Dean motioned towards two figures standing in the parking lot in what looked like a stand off that Sam found Weston. The youngest Winchester was standing in a fighting position with his knife drawn, and in front of him an unrecognizable teenager was standing similarly, but with inky black eyes that gazed hatefully at Weston.

"Shit," Sam managed to get out; before he and Dean were pulling out their new twin Colts that would make a demon drop like a fly.

"Weston, down!" Dean shouted, and once his son was clear, let off two shots.

The pistol's report sent shivers down Sam's spine, and then he realized where they were and how bad it would look if anyone saw them shooting a seemingly innocent high school kid. After the demon swayed and fell to the ground, possessed body lifeless, Sam ran forward to his nephew. Weston stared at him with a dazed expression, blood trickling down his face. Sam guided the stunned teenager to the Impala, while Dean took care of the body.

"It's going to be alright, Weston, everything's okay," Sam assured, waiting for Dean to get his ass in the car.

When the eldest Winchester finally loaded into the car, he turned to Sam and Weston with sad eyes. "I think I need to tell you two why I really came back."

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**a/n:** This chapter got to be a bit longer than I expected .... Hope no one minds!


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